


Just another heartbreak on my lips

by magical_realism27



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, one-sided Quinntana, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_realism27/pseuds/magical_realism27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Fabray was not jealous. She never got jealous. Especially not of the stranger that was currently dancing with Santana. Because that would mean her two-time thing with her best friend had just gotten complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just another heartbreak on my lips

The second shot slid down her throat, and by the time the liquid was warming her stomach, Santana’s hand was on some redhead’s ass. _Girl’s night,_ she grumbled internally. Why had she even bothered coming to New York if her best friend was going to ditch her at a pub for a stocky stranger who couldn’t be taller than 4’11? Totally not Santana’s type.

She preferred blondes.

“Can I get another one over here?” Quinn piped up, turning on her stool to face the man behind the bar.

“One more, then you’re cut off.” He husked out. He smelled like smoke and had half of his dinner caught in his silver beard. Quinn nodded and averted her eyes.

The bartender placed her final shot on the paper napkin near her and went back to watching the basketball game on the television. His team was down by six.

“Rough night?” Asked a sharply dressed man at the other end of the bar. They were the only two not dancing.

“Rough lifetime.” Quinn replied, sucking the sugar off of her lime wedge.

  “My deepest sympathies.” He moved to the stool next to her. “You’re not native to NY, are you?”

  “How could you tell? Was it the clothes? My friend told me I was dressed like ‘a chardonnay-swilling, Ambien-addicted, mother of two on her third boob-job.’” Quinn stared at the full shot-glass in her hand.

“It was because the first thing you said to me wasn’t ‘fuck off.’” He paused. “But maybe the pearls were a little much.”

“I borrowed them from my mom.” Quinn admitted. Wow, did alcohol made her open. Whatever, loose lips were better than loose legs. The last time she’d had a drink, she ended up bedding her best friend at a wedding that never got off the ground. The man laughed, and it sounded like a bark. She noticed that his hair was graying around the temples, and his tie was Armani. _Just my type_. Ouch, _when_ did her inner-voice get so bitter?

            _Somewhere between the baby and the truck._

Right.

“So, I guess your friend was right, then.” The stranger chuckled. She should probably tell this weirdo to stop talking shit about her mother, but she was either too drunk or too vindictive to really care.

   “My mom’s only on her second boob job.” And Santana was still grinding on some random, third generation Irish bitch.

He laughed again, easy and low.

“Is your friend here tonight?”

“Yeah, she’s the lesbian on the dance floor who needs a lesson on tact.”

“You’re funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

“So you’re jealous?”

“Not trying to be.”

 _Fucking_ alcohol.

He gave Santana and her new friend a _long_ look. Pig.

“She’s very attractive.” He decided, sipping his beer.

  “Who? My friend, or freckle-face?” Quinn’s vitriol surprised her.

“Definitely your friend. Freckle-face is my date.”

Quinn made a sound between a tongue-click and a laugh. The girls were practically humping by now, their hair was sweaty and their inhibitions gone.

“Was my date.” The man conceded. He started to peel the label off of his beer.

“My deepest sympathies.” Quinn couldn’t help but smile.

“Eh. I thought it was too soon to start dating again anyway.”

“Divorced?”

“Widowed.”

“And here I am, throwing myself a pity-party.”

“Hey, you have feelings for a girl who looks like _that_. A little self-pity’s needed.”

Quinn laughed, maybe because she needed to, and maybe because she didn’t want to keep discussing pity. She’d had enough pity for a lifetime. A slower song boomed through the pub, and Quinn watched Santana lead her dance partner off the floor, towards the restrooms. Quinn’s stomach bit the curb. Hard.

“I-I need to go home. Well, not my home. Her home. I’m staying with her. At her home.” Quinn rambled. She started searching for her wallet in her purse.

“I got it.” He pulled some bills out of his front pocket. “You gonna drink that?” Quinn hadn’t even noticed she was still cradling her last shot.

_This is gonna hurt like a mother-fucker._

“Yup.” Quinn tossed her head back and swallowed. The glass made a sharp sound as it collided with the bar. The bartender looked up from his game. His team was down by eight now.

Her new friend laughed. “That was amazing. If only you weren’t gay for your best friend.”

“If only. Thanks for the drinks, um-”

“Jared.”

“Quinn.”

“Good luck, Quinn.”

“Good night, Jared.”

            Quinn exited the pub, hoping the alcohol would protect her from the chill of the night.

           


End file.
